


Ice On The Rocks

by thebifrostgiant



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Banter, But Thor is Not, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Because Loki is Oblivious, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Pining Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebifrostgiant/pseuds/thebifrostgiant
Summary: Loki’s eyes reveal so much, and yet there are still things he doesn’t see





	Ice On The Rocks

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short, sweet little thing, because pining Loki is one of my many cups of tea

“You like him, don’t you?”

Thor is shoulder to shoulder with Loki, and mercifully out of earreach of the other Avengers. 

“I have no idea why you think I like any of them, let alone whoever ‘him’ refers to.” As far as denials go, Loki thinks he manages it pretty well, for Thor could not possibly hear the sudden hammering of his heart, and if he chose that moment to take a sip of his drink, it was to play up his casual disinterest, not at all hurried to ease the dryness of his mouth. 

“You are not so covert as you might wish to be, brother. The others may not notice, Stark may not notice, but it is not so easy to pretend when I have known your face and the expressions it has worn all your life. You’ve never been able to keep the truth from touching your eyes.”

“You are mistaken,” Loki says, the tense set of his shoulders making his voice crisp. He sounds like he’s dismissing a mild irritant, and certainly not _affected_. He swirls his wine in its glass, fingers rolling the stem of it back and forth. He presses his lips together against a surge of emotion. “You haven’t even known me my whole life, and you certainly don’t-“ 

Laughter rolls in from the other room. Someone has told a joke, and without meaning for it to happen, Loki’s eyes find Anthony, just to see if he is laughing too. 

And Thor, never so oblivious as he often chose to let on, Thor sees. And it damns him. 

“Your eyes, Loki, it is always your eyes.”

His voice is soft. Compassionate and _brotherly_, and all the things Loki doesn’t want to hear right now. 

Because he cannot deny it now, not when his eyes are not the only thing betraying him. 

“Leave it, Thor.”

He is not begging. He downs the rest of his wine without another thought, and damns it too, because it doesn’t help. 

“You know it’s okay, right? You’re allowed to love him. You are not wrong for doing so. I’m happy for you.”

“I said, I don’t know what you are talking about!” It is louder than he means to say it, too loud in the quiet kitchen. The laughter in the other room subsides. “I told you to leave it.” Much softer now. And maybe he does plead then. 

And without another word, without another glimpse of pity, or pride, or that itchy, uncomfortable discernment that Thor could display sometimes — so much like Frigga, when he wanted to be, so much like her it hurt — he turns away and leaves. Because Loki is not happy. Loki might not be wrong for the path his heart has set for him, but that doesn’t make everything _okay_ either.

***

The sky is empty and black amidst the city lights and smog of New York, but the air is sharp in his lungs and clears his head a bit. 

He still holds the wine goblet in his hands, empty as the sky, the glass gone cold in the night wind. He hadn’t set it down when he’d fled, for that is exactly what he’d done, and had brought it with him when he’d made his way to the roof of the tower. Now, he cannot decide if he should clutch it tighter, or hurl the thing into the street below, watch it fall all that way down. 

“Would you like a refill? Or was that your idea of cutting back on your drinking habit?”

To his credit, Loki doesn’t jump, or show any outward signs of startling besides clenching the glass impossibly tighter. 

Without waiting for a response, Anthony sits down beside him, a bottle of some alcohol that is most certainly not wine in his hands, and closes his eyes to lean into the windy caress against his face, ruffling his hair. 

“Why did you find me?” Loki asks instead of giving an answer, because he hadn’t even been out here long, and yet Stark had evidently come up after him. 

“If you didn't want to be found, I doubt I would have found you at all,” says Anthony, not opening his eyes. 

“Not what I asked.”

Anthony does open an eye then, contemplating Loki from the corner of it for a moment before he speaks. 

“You haven’t fought with Thor in a long time,” he says finally, and it’s not really an answer either. And yet, it sort of is. Still, it sets Loki’s teeth on edge. 

“And if I told you I didn’t want to talk about it?” There’s a darkness there, a warning like a dagger’s edge. Then he swallows, guilty, because he truly does not wish to quarrel with Anthony as well. 

But Anthony just snorts, a slight, endeared smile creeping up his face. Loki isn’t sure what to make of it. 

“Oh, I don’t expect you to. You were pretty clear about Thor minding his own business, and I would never pry.”

It’s a lie, and they both know it, but Loki relaxes anyway, because it’s Anthony’s way of saying he had come just to make sure Loki was alright, because he would have refused the company he needed if he had been asked if he wanted it. 

They sit silently for a long time, drinking Scotch and watching cars crawl by like beetles beneath the tower, long enough that the mortal must be feeling the cold, with nothing but a light jacket against it. But he gives it no mind, seeming to enjoy the chill of it as much as Loki does. 

“Besides, I know what you were fighting about anyway.”

And suddenly, Loki does feel rather frozen, but it’s not the wind and night that’s responsible. 

“I was wondering if you would ever say anything. Waiting, you know? But then I realized who I was talking about.” 

He smiles at Loki, equal parts exasperated and fond, and his eyes are warm enough that even Jotunheim’s winters could not make Loki shiver. 

“So if it’s all the same to you,” he says, and slides his hand over Loki’s. “I think we’d be better together.” Loki stares at the fingers curled around his own, the soft touch igniting something in his chest, and then he stares at Anthony with a heart full of wonder. “Like whisky on the rocks.”

_Oh_, Loki thinks, very surprised indeed. Then he says, “I thought you preferred yours straight up.”

“Uh huh.” Anthony’s laugh is full of affection, tempering the smoky burn of mockery into a good-natured tease. And Loki realizes he’s well and truly been caught, because he had just admitted to paying attention to the man, more attention than he can pass off as anything other than exactly what it is. “It’s not a hard and fast rule. I’ve been known to make exceptions, when I find the right bottle.”

“And here I thought I was the ice.” And talking isn’t so hard, not like this, when it’s their familiar steady ground of banter. 

“Well, I doubt ice on the rocks would make a good cocktail.”

And Loki can’t help it. He laughs, leaning against Anthony’s side, because it’s ridiculous, because it’s funny, because the release is heady as any spirit, warming him through. Anthony laughs with him, and this is easy, the two of them sharing this moment, Anthony leaning into him just as readily. Like children, giggling the night away, and definitely _not_ like children with the taste of expensive Scotch lingering on their breath. 

“We’ll just have to be a cocktail of our own making I suppose.”

“Yeah,” says Anthony, through the last tremor of laughter. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Loki says, and he means it. He smiles, and tightens his fingers with Anthony’s, reveling in the sweetness just of holding the man’s hand. “Really glad.”

By some unspoken agreement, they shift until they are facing each other, closer than ever. 

“You know what else I’d like?” Anthony whispers, eyes dark in the low light of the city. 

“I think I could guess,” Loki says just as softly, and kisses him. 

Their mouths are cold, like ice, the flavor of whisky sweet like this, shared between them, and they are, without a doubt, better together. 


End file.
